


Foxfall, Fruitfall

by TempoWrites



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Anthropomorphic, Canon - Video Game, Canon Compliant, Consensual, Consent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fantasy, Foxes, Fruit, Furry, Healers, Het, Hot Springs & Onsen, Illusions, Illustrated, Illustrations, Kissing, Knotting, Lizards, Love, Mage, Magic, Orgasm, Requited Love, Sacred Trees, Sex Magic, Sexual Content, Trees, True Love, Vaginal Sex, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempoWrites/pseuds/TempoWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swims-With-Wolves, an Argonian healer just back from the Imperial City, thought she'd seen all the excitement the Hist intended for her. Then a member of the long-extinct vulpine Lilmothiit tumbled from the sky in her tidy little village. Spry of limb and glib of tongue, sure, but what excitement could he possibly stir up while in her care?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Volume I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Argonian mage's quiet life is disrupted by a fox falling from the sky.

The Elder Scrolls: Foxfall, Fruitfall  
By Tempe O'Kun, scholar at the College of Winterhold

_Reconstructed from writings on sets of dried sap slabs, donated to library by Bhuut Sifkning. Translated here from Jel, the tongue of the Saxhleel. Context places the origin of these carvings somewhere between 3E 428 and 3E 432._

Volume 1

~ ~ ~ 

The lizard-folk are fruit.

Fruit of the Hist trees.

You see them on the street and call them Argonians, thinking that fruit cannot talk and walk, assuming their humanoid bodies tell the story. This you must first understand: the fruit serves the tree, not the other way around. So whatever the Hist require, the Argonians desire. Some of these lizard-folk break away, leaving the Black Marsh, ignoring the needs of the whole for the sake of the self. Uncommon, unlike in the lands of men and mer. Most, though, follow their calling, leading to the Argonian axiom: "The fruit does not fall far from the tree."

Swims-With-Wolves, one such Saxhleel lizard-fruit, found herself gifted with a fixation for mammals. And not just the simple, swinging, hooting mammals of the Marsh, but also the complicated, swinging, hooting mammals of the Empire. In the hopes of better understanding them, she traveled to the Dry Lands, her mind brimming with visions poured into her by the Hist. Her travels ran long and dangerous, though with wits and borrowed wisdom she arrived at a great college of Restoration. What better way to learn of the scaleless races than to observe how they function when sick and well, old and new-born?

In the long tradition of barkeeps or assassins or whatever else the Trees find interesting and needed in the human lands, she adapted to the ways of the Landstriders. She had no small amount of talent in Restoration, the Great Trees had seen to that. Beyond this, however, she possessed little else but a keen mind. These two things proved to be enough and earned her a place with the smooth-skinned scholars. There she took up the study of mammals under the guise of a simple healer and student. After years of hard study, she returned to the Black Marsh and shared her findings with her people, both arbor and arboreal. Following this, Swims-With-Wolves settled into a simple life as a healer in her tribe. Surrounded by the gentle rustle of endless leaves and the burble of sweet swamp decay rather than the guttural warbling and dead food of the Dry Lands, she lived content that she had served her great purpose and that life would allow her peace.

She did not miss the dryness or coldness or the rudeness of the Empire. She did miss the college, with its countless and delightful books, though she resigned herself to making do with the odd waterlogged tome that floated through her village. Though of the small fraction of life in the Marsh that was not a worm, she remained quite the bookworm. And, each time she climbed down from her hut, wet ground squishing between her toes, cobblestone streets crossed her mind. Peace found her, though, more or less.

But then the fox fell.

A Lilmothiit, to be exact. Sly, slender, svelte, but otherwise unlike the feline Khajiit in all but name.

The root-gatherers raced into her village from the rootworm travel-tubes where they had gathered their extra roots for export. Wails were wailed, squawks squawked, and a guard rushed over in his sap-armor to summon her from gardening.

Mammal-folk rarely fall from the sky in the Marsh, even more rarely onto several caravan guards. When they appear at all, it’s usually to invade or enslave. So Swim-With-Wolves understood the anxiety. She didn’t, however, understand why she was needed. 

The healer arrived on the scene of the fox-fall to find that the vulpine had charmed the caravan guards into not killing him until he was well enough to be slain, since otherwise they would not be completely killing him and half-dead-half-living foxes would be far more trouble than simply-living foxes. The charmed guards had to admit they were far more familiar with dealing with people alive or dead rather than both.

Swims-With-Wolves, however, wore a ring she bought in her training, at the suggestion of one of her teachers. A cheap bauble that absorbed a mere sliver of a spell's magicka. Its sole purpose was for her to know when another mage cast a spell upon her. And so when he did, she did, and therefore he didn't. Such is the nature of Illusion.

But she healed him anyway, since she swims with wolves.

This wolf, who happened to be a fox, had a scent that shifted from scared to terrified to very appreciative.

Swims-With-Wolves had never seen foxfolk before. Scarce and elusive, the foxes were known to her only by rumor. That her people felt wary of one falling from the sky didn’t surprise her. Mammals in the Marsh meant invasion and enslavement. 

With his bones properly knitted, the guards inquired politely of the fox if he was well enough to be slain now, as their time was running short. The fox replied that his time would certainly do their work for them in his regard, so they might as well get on with escorting the caravan.

Still being charmed, this made perfect sense.

However, the root-gatherers had since returned from their bout of wariness and, regarding matters of the fox, remained resolutely un-charmed. Unaware she’d healed the from-sky-falling-beast, they seemed quite alarmed that the monster that had plummeted upon their caravan was not only still alive, he seemed to be getting better quite fast.

Swims-With-Wolves looked up from healing the guards-fallen-upon. She assured them she controlled the fox-monster and explained she would need to study him to find out the reason for his sudden recovery. That way, this knowledge could be used for the greater glory of the Hist, as this was the exact nature of her calling. Not wanting to interfere with sap-destiny, the other Argonians had no choice but to leave him in her care as they departed.

She hurried the fox away before anybody could think too hard about this. The Imperial tongue chopped her thoughts into mammal terms, her true thoughts too close to the root. She eyed the vulpine. "Lilmothiit, you had best go wherever you are going."

The fox, muddy ears perked with interest at her quick wits, cleared his throat and countered: "Clearly, I've already arrived. You saved my life—what can I do to repay you?"

"I want nothing."

"That would be a very boring and useless thing for me to do. Is my life of such little value to you?" His tail flicked, scattering mud from his impact. He slung his netch-leather satchel over his shoulder. "Surely there is something you lack."

"The marsh, the Hist, and my fellow Saxheel provide all I need."

His gilded eyes gleamed. "Perhaps some gold to influence men and mer?"

Swims-With-Wolves clucked her tongue. "Gold is soon lost in the mud of the Marsh, as is influence with man and mer."

"Perhaps some finery then?" He swept a paw toward her cheek. "Gems of every shade in your scales?"

"If I already have those shades, why do I need gems? Everyone I wish to impress, I have."

The vulpine quirked a muddy ear. "And then some."

A tingle of foreboding trailed through Swims-With-Wolves, like the feel of a spell about to go awry. With a cautious eye, she slunk into the water and began the slow swim to her home, only to find the fox picking his way through the swamp after her. The healer floated to watch him. "You sneak very poorly."

"Exactly the point. You are to study me, after all."

Study him she did, her eyes narrowing like closing door-membranes.

"For the greater glory of the Hist and the fulfillment of your tree-sap-licked destiny, as I recall."

She pondered in that pond. And, not wanting to interfere with sap-destiny, she had no choice but to leave him in her own care as they departed.

Upon arriving at her dwelling and climbing the rungs, she paused at the door-membrane. "If I am to study you, you must promise not to charm me with your magic."

The scrawny mammal grinned a grin of sharp mammal teeth. "What about without?"

And Swims-With-Wolves hurried inside before she could think too hard about this.

~ ~ ~


	2. Volume II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Lilmothiit illusionist and an Argonian healer get to know each other.

The Elder Scrolls: Foxfall, Fruitfall  
By Tempe O'Kun, scholar at the College of Winterhold

Volume 2

~ ~ ~

Swims-With-Wolves crossed her arms, as she had seen the mer and men do when cross or double-crossed. "Tell me, Lilmothiit: what should I call you?"

The fox spread his paws. "Sizaan, since that is what I am."

The healer studied him with scholar's eyes. Sizaan: the dragonish word for lost; but lost to whom? And by chance or on purpose? Mysteries to be sussed out from this fox with mussed fur, she decided. "You will want to wash your fur? I know mammals do not like mud in their pelts."

"Your familiarity with mammals is quite impressive."

"Yes." She began to fill a basin with the clean water she kept for washing wounds.

Sizaan grinned, leaning nearby. "So I am not your first subject of study?"

"Mammals do not fall from the sky." Her eyes flashed over the filling basin. "Often."

He accepted the basin and worked to return his pelt to its coppery norm.

Her tail in a perked curve of interest, she watched the ivory and auburns emerge from the muck. Unused to the eyes of others, the Lilmothiit shed his vest, belt, and loincloth so as to better wash his pelt. When the weight of her gaze encumbered him, though, he returned it, studying the pale pinks and green-yellows of her nude scales.

Upon each realizing the other realized this exchange, they curled their respective tails around themselves in a respectable way. Glances returned to eye level, though even there they lingered longer than needed, gold lost in ruby, sunset lost in sunrise.

Breaths later, the spell of the moment released them. Sizaan tugged back on his simple garments. His ears dripped and dipped in an inoffensive way. "I am surprised to see an Argonian healer not plastered with leaves and totems."

Swims-With-Wolves glanced down at her nude body. "After my studies in the Dry Lands, I've found little need for totems. And headdresses only get in the way of swimming." Her hand brushed her unadorned horns, perhaps a bit self-conscious.

"I presume by your survival you wore clothes while in the North?"

"Yes."

His gold eyes flicked to her nest, raised up from the floor. One black paw fingered the woolen covers. "And your penchant for blankets instead of leaves?"

She laughed. "I am still steaming the cold from my bones."

"I don't mind the heat of the Marsh, but fooling the fleshflies into not biting my nose and paw-pads is troublesome."

"How is it you fell into that caravan? I assume you were spying from the trees?"

"From the sky."

"I didn't know you had wings." Her voice deadpanned, though her colors livened.

"Then your knowledge of Lilmothiit anatomy is lacking." His eyes narrowed to golden, smiling slits. "...Perhaps you need a tutor?"

"A-a generous offer. Though I don't think you need go quite so far to pay me back."

"Perhaps." He fluffed his copper tail, as if to dismiss a joke. "As for the fall, I'd fooled myself into being a bird."

"And then you tried to fly?"

"I flew quite well. At least, until my whiskers itched and I remembered I was a Lilmothiit..."

They spoke until the gurgle of their stomachs informed them they had not eaten. Night had fallen. Swims-With-Wolves crunched her way through a pail of wriggling trodh fish. Like many mammals, Sizaan had a peculiar aversion toward eating anything fresh and alive. Despite her best efforts, only two things could she find to nourish but not poison him: a generous quantity of bland seeds and her last bottle of elven wine, unearthed from the cool mud at the base of her tree. The fox took to the former with grace, the latter with vigorous enthusiasm.

This led to the vulpine's tales getting steadily wilder, though Swim-With-Wolves judged them still worth hearing, if only for scientific purposes.

As the moons rose, though, she yawned, dragging herself to her nest-bed. "The hour is late, Sizaan. I must sleep."

"Adieu then, milady!" The fox snatched his satchel, sloshing the near-empty bottle in the other paw. "For I sleep only under the stars!" With a swish of his thick tail, he dashed outside.

She watched through the translucent door-membrane as the lithe Lilmothiit leapt between branches, dangling in precarious ways as he lashed his hammock into place. He clamored into it and swayed to sleep, his tail dangling low. The Argonian, meanwhile, lay restless her mind awhirl. She had thought her mission in life complete, her sap-destiny fulfilled.

But now outgrowth of her destiny, a challenge. She knew everything about mammals, except this one. This would not stand.

A sudden gust slapped rain against her hut. Through the door, she saw the fox scrambling to clutch onto his swaying hammock.

Not long after, the Lilmothiit squeezed through the door-membranes and came dripping back in. "Bad enough I have to keep enchanting your neighbors not to touch my tail, but now I'm soaked through the fur! I'm sleeping in here."

A chuckle hissed from her lips.

Finding nowhere else, he curled up under her nest.

Living in the Marsh, Swims-With-Wolves had smelled far worse than wet fur, though she clucked her tongue at something else. "I thought you only slept under the stars."

Sharp teeth clattering, he managed a retort. "Having looked unto your eyes, milady, I know that I am."

Amusement swayed down her long tail. She dropped him a blanket. "Dry off. It gets cold after a rain."

The Lilmothiit shivered in agreement, wringing the rain from his fur as best he could. Moments later, he curled up again in the only place he found room: under her nest-bed.

Swims-With-Wolves tried to sleep, but the shivering in his breath unraveled her dreams. She considered lighting a fire, but knew the wood would be damp from the rain. What tiny amount of Alteration magic she possessed would take hours to dry it.

Argonians are, at their core, a practical people. After a few moments of deliberation, she simply dragged the shivering mammal from under her bed, wrapped him in her blankets and limbs.

The fox froze, then thawed as his shivers faded.

~ ~ ~


	3. Volume III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Argonian healer grows enchanted with her illusionist patient.

The Elder Scrolls: Foxfall, Fruitfall  
By Tempe O'Kun, scholar at the College of Winterhold

Volume 3

~ ~ ~

Days passed.

Sizaan slipped soundless through the door-membrane, cradling a blade. Even as she brewed her potions, Swims-With-Wolves caught his canid scent, savoring it a moment, then noticed the gleam of metal on a glass alembic.

"Where did you get the dagger?" The Argonian's tail lashed, though her manner remained cool, her webbed hands steady in their work. "Did you steal it?"

The blade flashed between vulpine paws. "No, I stole it back."

"And that's different?"

"Very different." The length of steel stole into the scabbard at his belt. "Not even the same word in my language."

She suspended fungal pod extract in a marshmerrow matrix. Pity all the dartwings got gobbled up by the youngsters—some saltrice would have to do. "You shall have to teach me your language someday. I collect mammal languages."

The Lilmothiit fiddled with a silver amulet around his neck, then smelled much less of magic. His footsteps made noise as he padded across the small hut to sit on his hammock. "I've been speaking mine the whole time."

She looked up from grinding saltrice, eyes cool as gems. "How do I understand—?"

"You can't be angry." He sniffed her alchemy with interest.

"You swore not to cast spells on me."

"It's a spell on me."

"How does that even—?"

"Spells on me don't count." A vulpine grin gleamed across his muzzle as he leaned backward across the hammock to dip a digit in the heavy white brew.

The Argonian watched in shock, unused to people sticking fingers in her alchemy.

He sucked the blob of goo from his finger-fur. “Mmmmm.”

“You just assume what I’m stewing isn’t poison?” She added some more dry peat to the fire beneath the stewing retort of fungus pods.

“Who bothers to make poison in Black Marsh? Everything’s poisonous already. Besides...” He reached down and scooped a little more of the sweet potion. “You like me too much to let me be poisoned.”

They fell into long conversation about how he’d been developing an illusion to fool his fur into never getting muddy. Midway through, she found he’d eaten the greater part of her efforts. With a wag of apology, the fox again dipped a finger in the sticky brew, then pressed the sweet blob to her lips. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted the treat, having forgotten how good healing elixirs could taste. The restorative radiance whispered through her flesh, easing tensions she didn’t know she held.

His smile stirred warmth in her soul.

The healer smiled. She had learned how in the Empire. The fox had just taught her why.

~ ~ ~

Hours of talk and the rest of the brew later, Swims-With-Wolves hurried to the nearest Hist, which drifted past her village at the rate of the speediest glacier. With a lick of its sap, she fell into a vision, images awhirl between her mind and the great Tree. All she knew of the strange vulpine creature, the Tree knew too, and therefore all the Trees, as they are one.

And therefore, on her way home, she watched a cloud of spores drift through her village, letting her people to know the fox as a friend, or at least a strange but harmless mammal and not worth troubling with. This event should come as no surprise, given that the Argonians and the Hist are one as well.

The Lilmothiit, now free to walk about the village with a range of reactions from sniffs to snoots, pondered how he could repay her. First, he tried cooking, which resulted in a dead and somewhat deadly stew of trodh fish. Next, he tried some minor carpentry, which so angered the sawbeaks living in the branches of her hut that she had to repair him instead. Last, he tried alphabetizing her various books, though this resulted in all the pages falling out and having to be put back in what he considered a much superior order anyway.

An idea struck him, though, as he pieced together a volume on the war-ballads of the guar emperors: he did have something else of value, after all.

When she returned that day, returned not only to her newly-recombinant library, but to a miniature version of the landfall of the Redguard playing out across her floor. As a fleet of ships used her foot as a staging area from which to raid the mainland, her blood-irised eyes fixed on the vulpine. "I had your word you'd cast no spells on me, Lilmothiit."

"Then it's a good thing I cast this spell on your floor." He pranced through pitched battles, his paws wisping through several historical footnotes.

And so he shared visions with her.

The Dwemer dwindled through the dwelling, until their cogs and contrivances ran silent. The Chimer dimmed to ash in her calcinator. The Falmer fell through the cracks in her floor, losing their snow-blind eyes. A scaly Wamasus struck like lightning inside a potion vial, as Nords stole its teeth. The first Khajiit mewed and pounced as the flames in her hearth.

Of his own people, she saw Blackrose bloom and wither. A city singular and sublime where the nomadic vulpines gathered, built, dreamed, and dispersed, leaving only a shell which sat hollow until a great prison filled it.

The phantasms faded and phased, weaving through the fabric of time. Events known and unknown dragged the Argonian all the way past wonder and into a fierce desire for comment. Her yarns wove intricately into his own, the stories before them made all the richer. At some point the Lilmothiit realized the soft-scaled chin of his companion rested on his shoulder, watching with serene intent. So easy and familiar felt her body against his that he had not even noticed.

~ ~ ~


	4. Volume IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whimsical Lilmothiit and stalwart Argonian strive to find a future together.

The Elder Scrolls: Foxfall, Fruitfall  
By Tempe O'Kun, scholar at the College of Winterhold

Volume 4

~ ~ ~

Long after the Lilmothiit's illusions faded from the floor of her hut, Swims-With-Wolves sat staring.

"You look a little too impressed, Argonian." The fox-mage tut-tutted. "I hope my life-debt is not so easily paid."

"Yes, perhaps you shall have to share another story."

And so he did, and after each he would ask his sly vulpine question: had this simple story repaid his debt? And always she would reply, with smooth saurian sibilation, that perhaps he would need to share another. Each night, they found themselves sitting a little closer on the nest-bed, until her chin upon his shoulder seemed typical and wonderful as he told his tales. Not long after, his hammock saw little use, as they both agreed it much more practical for him to stay in bed with her.

And, as sometimes happens when two souls draw together through time and tender words, they fell in love.

One night, as starlight cast their fate in fragile tones of silver and ebony, Lilmothiit and Argonian caught themselves in each other’s glance.

Swim-With-Wolves watched from their nest-bed.

The shadows of moonlight could not hide a rare moment of vulpine shyness. His smile glinted, though, and he undid a button of his vest in the form of a question.

She hissed a chuckle, which came edged with surprise. Approval and curiosity balanced against Argonian reserve, in the end showing through.

With soft murmurs of fabric, his clothes met the floor.

Silence drifted heavy through the hut.

She lay in bed; he stood, ears down. A lingering glance passed between them. Then, with nary a word, he wrung his slim black paws and sidled near, their eyes never leaving each other's.

Lifting the blankets, the Lilmothiit lay down, aware of smooth scales pressed against his entire front. She felt his heartbeat, swifter even than his padded stride.

Her hands traced up his naked back, fingers laced at nape of his neck as she drew him into a kiss. The warmth of soft fur replaced the warmth of the blanket. The Argonian basked in the sensation of her body being swathed with his fur, letting it overwhelm her.

Together they explored each other's bodies. He marveled how smooth her scales ran under his paw pads. Her hand cradled his warm, soft, delicate mammalian male parts, which he pressed against in gentle approval. Their muzzles met, crossing the species divide. His paws stroked the tender bases of her horns while his tongue danced with hers in a wet heat that put the Marsh to shame. The heat of the moment caused him to leak a little of his own wet heat against her stomach, leaving the reptile to revel in the endless warmth the mammal could produce. Her hands caressed him, teasing, feeding the fires of his passion, until at last he gave her some private tutoring on the mysteries and mechanics of the canid sheath. The Argonian gasped at the heat of his naked penis, handling the object of her study with care. The slight swell of his knot, a blessing unique to canids, intrigued her, left her with theories and a fervent wish to test them.

Lusty Argonians mate at the height of the day, when the sun speeds their blood. But, with a hot-blooded Lilmothiit in her arms, Swim-With-Wolves found herself in the scandalous situation of making love in the dark of night, under the strange texture of fabric.

Fur and scale mingled, heat furry and soft coming together as that unsheathed prize of the Lilmothiit found a yielding home in that softest part of the Saxheel. The fox rose and fell atop her, his erection pressing wide her folds. Swims-With-Wolves moaned, digging her claws into the sides of her nest-bed. Incredible heat radiated through her body with every thrust of his smooth mammalian penis. Her body squirmed under his, tickling his fur with the sensation of her scales. Even as she gasped for breath, she had to admit her fascination for that swelling at the base of his member, now growing as it jostled in and out of her body. With every stroke out it tugged at her lips; with every press back in it stretched her walls as nothing had done before. Like a spell, it cast ecstasy through her mind. Like a spell, each thrust came harder than the last.

Sizaan, meanwhile, panted, his slim muzzle rubbing the supple scales of her chin, whiskers trembling with each reveling breath. His knot swelled like the tide, ever ancient, ever novel, waves of motion rocking their bodies as jets of thin fluid pulsed from his tip to the juicy bay of her being. Under him, she bucked up with her tail, desiring him ever deeper within her, pride soaring in his chest with every yearning whisper of his name.

Within moments, the Lilmothiit arched, yipping and gasping, atop her. Again and again he shoved his knot against the Argonian, who lay back, lashing her tail against the nest-bed until twigs rattled loose to the floor. With a final thrust forged of vulpine desperation, his knot spread her wide and then plunged deep, trapped inside at last. 

The hut bloomed, awash in color.

All around them, the visual manifestations of their pleasure writhed in brilliant splendor. His swollen flesh surged inside her, a gasp escaped his vulpine lips, and then he began to let loose a warm flood of that most precious mammalian fluid. Sizaan gripped her tight as he sprayed his seed along her slick depths, the whirlwind of color racing out into the night, illuminating the dank and dim marsh into an orgy of resplendent light. Her webbed fingers clutching his fox-rump, Swims-With-Wolves howled her pleasure to the night, her body quaking in bliss as the Lilmothiit’s knot swelled against the inside of her, pressing her lips back against his elegant sheath, his delicate sac. This cry of passion wove in with the yowls and roars from beasts of the night, blinded and bedazzled by the cacophony of light that surged and spun and finally fizzled through the swamp.

While the other villagers blinked blearily in their beds, they had long since become used to strange lights, smells, explosions from their healer’s hut.

Swims-With-Wolves lay panting with her lover, his silky seed fading from sprays to dribbles against her most private places.

They lay, neither able to grasp the notion of letting go. As she had hypothesized, the swollen bulb of vulpine flesh ensured their embrace continued at the behest of both fondness and physiology.

And as her kind breathe the spores of the Great Trees or the water of the Marsh, so too did she drink in the scent of this beautiful creature. He became part of her heart, her day, her life.

Swims-With-Wolves' claws traced through her lover's fur. The Lilmothiit breathed against her, soft in all ways. His pelt ran under her fingertips like the silkiest silt, his nose like cool mud, his tongue… His tongue had no equal in all the Marsh. Velvet, the Drywalkers had called a fabric close to it. And whenever he set to work with it among her tender folds, she squawked like the most riotous of birds, shivered like the most delicate of ferns.

Her half-roused mind ambling through these fresh memories, she woke him with kisses along his soft-furred ears.

“You’re trouble, Swim.”

“Am I the one who is trouble?”

"Sometimes illusionists get so caught up in their spells, they forget what's real. The more beautiful the spell, the more dangerous." His paw traced her naked shoulder.

She touched her forehead to his, eyes closed, as if held in a Hist vision. "More than illusionists wonder if blessings are dreams."

The fox wrapped himself around her, tail twined with tail, warming her further still through the night.

~ ~ ~

And so their stories began to interweave, the travels of his long years and the tales of his people coupled with her endless research and observations on the ways of mammals. They would talk themselves hoarse, make love as she healed their throats, and then start anew.

The lone topic they did not broach: what would happen when he ran out of visions to share. If he repeated a story now and then, she pretended not to notice.

At last, though, like all avoided issues, it floated to the surface on its own. 

Swims-With-Wolves returned from her latest communing with the Hist to see her lover sitting dejected on their nest-bed. A pensive hush had fallen over the fox, ears down, tail curled tight against him. An idle wisp of illusion shimmered from his paw, like the final bittersweet note of a long, beguiling symphony.

Her fingers traced the smooth ruff of his cheek. "What saddens my fox-love?"

He shrugged in glum apology, whiskers wilting. His scent hung heavy. "I have no stories left to show you."

She leaned in. Her lips pressed, so soft, to his. The kiss came wet and warm, like an Argonian summer, and just as slow to drift away. "We both knew you would run out one day. Yours has been the most...illuminative tutoring I’ve ever received." Her nose bumped his with tender fondness.

He looked up; his golden eyes, the only gold she valued, shone with sorrow. With a quaver in his tone, he nested his hands. "What now?"

"Now…" She took his hands in her own, ruby eyes glinting. "…we make more."

~ ~ ~


	5. Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Argonian mage follows her vulpine lover up to a remote hot springs, with steamy results.

The Elder Scrolls: Foxfall, Fruitfall Redux  
By Tempe O'Kun, scholar at the College of Winterhold

_Reconstructed from writings on a newly-found set of ancient sap slabs, relocalized from the possession of Dunmer raiders by Back-Through-The-Veil and donated to the College._

Volume 5

~ ~ ~ 

Swims-With-Wolves stirred in her bedroll, grateful for the Lilmothiit's furred embrace. 

The fox had come to her village Sizaan, and left as Autumn-Warmth-Found. He'd also left with her heart, which is the only reason any sane Argonian would travel up this frozen mountain with him. Even with sunlight streaming through the walls of their tiny tent, the only heat she could find lay in his fur.

He jostled, pressing against her tail.

She hissed a chuckle. "Something is poking me in the back, my fox."

"It's not my fault." His hot breath lingered on her cheek. "Too many attractive Argonians here."

Her webbed, scaly hands cupped his own, which lay on her chest. She felt herself beginning to warm, in more ways than one. "For a lustful little mammal, you are at least a flatterer."

"And you are sweet for a grapefruit." He kissed the corner of her smile.

"Mmmmm. Why is it you insist on calling me that? It this fruit real? Sounds like you made it up."

"It's quite real. Yellow on the outside, pink on the inside, prone to messy drippings." A soft lick over her cheekbone, then he began sinking lower in the bedroll. "There are those who swear by eating one every morning."

Swims-With-Wolves giggled, spreading her legs for his paws. Talented fingers massaged her slit, drawing hisses and coos of pleasure from the groggy Argonian. The fox buried his nose in her, greedy licks sweeping inside her delicate folds. Her tail wriggled beneath him. Her hands stroked his silky ears. Each slurp of his tongue washed another wave of bliss through her body, his fingers thrusting inside her, his lips teasing her clitoris as he savored her juices with shameless ardor. Her fluids blended a trace of her scent with the slick syrup of sun-sweet fruits. With each lick, she felt herself tensing, her body produced more, her mind sailing higher on each wave of pleasure. At last the tide rose with her hips, her body trembling a few moments on his tongue before she collapsed back to the bedroll.

Before she could uncurl her toes from his tail, Autumn climbed atop her, licking his whiskers. "Are you quite warmed yet, my love?"

"Mmmmmmmhmmmm." She breathed deep of her own scent, which soaked the fur of that cunning black muzzle. Her hands stroked his back, cupping his rear and pressing his half-erect member to her sopping, slobbered slit. "Though I fear I might need some heat for the road."

The fox smiled, unsheathing his turgid penis and stroking the tip up and down her vaginal lips. "You had but to ask, milady." 

There, under the heavy warmth of the bedroll, he stroked in and out of her. He yipped in delight as her warm, wet walls wrapped his shaft, black paws clutching her flanks. The chill wind outside blew unheeded as they became lost in each other’s flesh and devotion. The reptile's claws crackled through his pelt. The narrowness of the fabric confines made it difficult to thrust into her, though, being a cunning little vulpine, he simply lifted her knees to her chest. She cried out, her passage massaged by his leaking shaft, the underside of her tail tickled by his furred scrotum. She found her nose buried in her lover’s luxurious pelt, breathing his scent: heavy, musky, and so very male.

On they continued, until both found a reason to shiver other than the cold. He filled her, though made sure not to tie. More than one morning had been delayed by his canine attributes. The tiny tent had warmed to comfort, the air rich with the scents of their arousal. 

Once they managed to emerge from the bedroll and dress themselves in heavy furs, they braced themselves and crawled out into the bluster and chill. The cold struck Swims-With-Wolves like the ground after a great fall, as it always did. By the time she recovered, Autumn had stowed the tent and resumed leading her up the narrow mountain trail. The path ran steep, frozen gravel crunching under her feet. The crisp chill of mountain air stole heat from every exposed inch of scale.

Like every morning on the frigid climb, she made him promise their destination worth the misery. The fox just smiled, fur dancing in the wind, and egged her onward. Even the Argonian had to admit, though, that the cold became more bearable with his silken warmth squishing inside her as she walked, dripping out a little at a time. And when the wind bit too hard for even her eight layers of furs, he pulled her close and warmed her with myths and magic. And so, in this way, they arrived at the hot springs.

~ ~ ~

Autumn-Warmth-Found relaxed as his body adjusted to the intense heat of the springs. Aches and soreness from their travel dissolved in the simmering water. The scent of sulfur permeated this alchemist’s brew of steamy water and stone.

Relaxed and at complete ease, he opened one eye at his Argonian companion. Like the patient alligator, her eyes and nostrils floated at surface level. That ruby gaze eyed him with eager intent, then vanished beneath the steaming surface. 

The fox knew that look. He squirmed, glancing around to check for the spring’s innkeepers. 

Taking advantage of her kin's water-breathing, she swam forward and nuzzled into his lap. The Lilmothiit moaned, gripping the stones edging the spring for support. Her reptilian lips kissed back his sheath and she began breathing water around her tongue's swirling efforts. The Argonian savored his salty, male musk, unhurried by breath, until he could no longer tell the water from her tongue. One hand massaged his hefty sac, while the other played though the swaying suspension of his fur in the water. Those supple, scaled lips suckled his sheath back until his knot felt the parboiling caress of the water.

She floated under the surface, moored only by her lover's shaft as she squeezed the growing swell of his knot. Her head bobbed with aquatic slowness as her tongue coiled and constricted, then writhed in turn, lapping at all the places experience had taught her most tender.

The Lilmothiit, for his part, gasped and yipped with such fervor that echoes reverberated down the silent mountainside. When he could bear her ministrations no longer, he yapped, clutching at the slick rocks, spilling his seed into her watery maw. The reptile swished the salty fluid around her mouth, diluting the thick liquid until it rose in thin white traces to the surface. 

Afterward, she straddled his lap, pressed against him, his spent cock pinned between their bellies as she hugged him close, claws combing his head-fur. Her membranes filmed her eyes, then withdrew as she nuzzled him. "I have the best fox in all of Tamriel."

The Lilmothiit swooned at her sentiment, but also the extreme temperature. During a minor respite in the winds, once a towel could conceal his excitement, he engaged in a mad dash to their room.

The human proprietors of the spring's tiny inn paused to spy out their windows. They saw a copper-furred, silver-tongued catfolk prancing back to his room, robed in naught but a towel. And if his noises sounded a bit too vulpine, none cared. Who knew why the beast races did anything? Besides, he and that Argonian payed in teas, fruits, and potions more than gold, rare delights for a remote inn.

Once the illusion-clad fox had finished his courageous stoking of the fire in their room, he returned to collect Swim before she broiled. His career as a bard brought in enough coin that they could afford a room with a sizable fireplace.

Swim still faced a serious dilemma. "It's warm, and it's water! This is incredible! And you wish me to leave it?"

"I'd carry you, but you're bigger than me." The fox hopped from foot to icy foot. "Come on!" He seized her by the hand and dragged her, squawking, through the shin-deep snow.

Laughing, they dashed against the chill winds. His towel fell in the snow. "Leave it!" The shivering Argonian dragged him onward and into their room before he could do more than blush.

Together, they slammed the heavy door and fell into a nude tangle of limbs, laughing. The piquant, honeyed odor of pine logs, both burning and stacked, hung thick in the room.

"A nonsensical place! Impossible heat surrounded by impossible cold!" She clutched his naked body, for more reasons than warmth.

His paws rubbed heat back into her scales, perhaps massaging a bit longer than needed on the curves of her hips. "Never learned of hot springs in your studies?"

"I had heard of them, but they remained but an academic footnote." She pressed her toes against his legs. "And my feet are frozen!" 

With a yip, he rolled her toward the fireplace. 

"Mmmm, yes, the fire was a wise precaution." Atop him, she stretched her legs toward it, burying her nose in his chest-fluff. "It is not fair you are warm-blooded." She hissed in pleasure, kissing up his neck. "Not fair. Not fair."

"I've never seen you so active." His claws traced along the delicate underside of her tail base.

"You have never seen me so warm."

His tail, copper and cream, swished against the floor, careful not to get too close to the flames. "I'm glad you didn't think I was trying to freeze you on purpose."

“Who bothers to freeze people outside the Marsh? Everything is frozen already. Besides...” Her tongue traveled up under his chin in a slow, sensual arc. “You like me too much to let me be frozen.”

In response, he kissed her, stroking her body from horns to tail.

Once the pair had recovered their heat, and dried out a bit, they scrambled to the bed. On all fours above him, firelight casting the curve of her body into relief, she pressed her lips to his. Her tongue swirled into his mouth, dancing along his teeth until his own lapped up to meet it. Together, their muzzles met, their breath mingled, building a heat within them that even the raging fire could not approach. 

She knew well, by now, how to handle him. Smooth-scaled hands angled his furred sheath to her slit, rubbing the delicate tip against herself as it emerged. The Lilmothiit grasped her thighs, whining in pleasure. Swims-With-Wolves cooed in delight, his stiff length sinking into her depths, always hotter than she expected. The wet, slippery embrace of her folds drove the fox to idle thrusts upward, baring his erect mammal penis into her again and again. She rode him, bucking against his motions in time just as humans ride their horses. As he felt his knot slide in and out of her, though, he knew her only destination: pleasure. So far from the Marsh she had traveled with him, and only because of the love he saw in her reptilian eyes. They shone like ruby stars down upon him, burning with all the passion of her soul as she bore down on his swelling canid bulge.

A groan hissed between her teeth as his knot stretched her. His dark paws stroked her stomach, helping her relax, marveling at her smooth scales. As the Argonian sank onto his bulge, she squawked with delight and fullness. The fox took this articulation as a cue to thumb her throbbing clit, which freed two more gasps of pleasure and a rush of healing magic down his shaft. The warm tingle sang down his cock, followed fast by a ripple of muscle and a frenzied lash of her tail as she hissed his name with tender desperation.

Autumn yelped. His lithe body stiffened, a gasp catching in his throat, golden vulpine eyes wide as he stared into hers. A surge of his essence sprayed her walls, then another and another. The Argonian's muscles clenched around him, milking this strange fruit for its exotic nectar. It pulsed deep within her, filling what little space the knot spared. Her tail slapped at the bed, then wrapped with his in exquisite tension, adoring his silky heat inside her, his silky fur around her.

When they had exhausted themselves, she collapsed atop him, panting into his fur. "Dare I ask…" Her eyes opened with lazy lizard satisfaction. "…our next destination, my fox?"

The vulpine could only smile, his gold eyes glinting in the firelight, mischief sparkling in his scent. "Have you ever made love in a magicka fountain?"

~ ~ ~

**Author's Note:**

> This is broken into short little chapters because the books in Skyrim only have about 1,500 words. I'm intending to make this series available in the PC version of Skyrim via a mod. :)
> 
> Let me know what you think! :D
> 
> Edits: TheFunkyOne, Slate, VendettaLeopard, SillyNeko345, DarkDragon452  
> Consults: Anakuro  
> Art: Slate
> 
> View my original works and novel previews here: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/tempo321/
> 
> ~Tempo


End file.
